Barrow Fields empyreal.

the savior was not a woman of much prudence - her pale gaze set low on the blooming carnation-pink horizon - intent on some far off squabble between the gulls. she would not have noticed that she had an audience, and whether she paid any mark if that same lurking foe was inches from her face was another matter. she was not a creature of today, now, dissociative and bleak. her mind was cast away, far away, over the ocean. but there was blood in the air, she knew that much. her mouth curled into a keen snarl, tasting with her fat tongue, her woefully pallid eyes dark in searching. she had a shark's eyes, terminally watery, but focused, desperate. the growl that clucked in her throat was more a whine than much else. but it was near.

what a lolloping thing she was, as a hacking cough gurgled up to her slobbering mouth; her neck snapped right. the creature shuddered to her too-big paws and padded off towards the far off trees, her ungainly trot like that of a lamed hare, limps and hops. her nose slammed to the ground in her quest, smelling and tasting the dirt and chewing on tussocks of grass. find, find, find, find; eat eat eat. the clawing breeze cloyed at her long mane and her shoulders rocked in merciful delight. near! her head snapped far too quickly upwards, her head twisting and twitching furtively in her desire. the savior's thick lips trembled with a grotesque glee, and then there it was. her look was monstrous.